


that slow burn wait while it gets dark

by keepthemclose



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepthemclose/pseuds/keepthemclose
Summary: The candles cast warm glows on Gendry’s skin, shadows dancing in the room all around them. Time is syrupy and slow and it’s all Arya can do to hope that the power stays out for a little longer.Arya and Gendry have a deal: he'll help her assemble her new couch and she'll cook him dinner. When they're hit with a summer blackout, tensions boil over.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 69
Kudos: 281





	that slow burn wait while it gets dark

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic and excuse to write some smut! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Title comes from Lorde's "A World Alone"

The sky is still streaked with pink and orange when the power goes out.

Arya is in the kitchen smashing cucumbers for a salad and sneaking glances over the counter at Gendry’s backside as he checks his handiwork against the assembly instructions. That had been their deal: he’d help her assemble her new couch and she’d cook him dinner.

“And by cook, do you mean order in pizza?” he’d asked.

She elbowed him in the ribs, “Fuck you, I can cook.”

She’s making a cucumber salad and sesame noodles, the kind she’d gotten Gendry hooked on from her favorite neighborhood Chinese place. For as long as she’s known him, he’s been a person who prefers the familiarity of routine. He’s perfectly content going to the same bar every Tuesday night for trivia with their friends, raising his eyebrows at her over his beer when Hot Pie gets particularly drunk and rowdy, then texts her under the table if she wants to ditch early and grab a dollar slice around the corner. He isn’t the most adventurous person, but if she insists he try something (or drags him to things against his will), he always goes along with it. And when those new experiences turn out to be things he likes, she teases him mercilessly with a snarky “I told you so.”

Gendry lets her tease him. Seems to enjoy it even.

Arya knows that Gendry would’ve helped her no matter what food was involved. He isn’t a picky person but she wanted to do something special, partly because he rarely does anything special for himself. That, and lately she’s been trying to impress him. It’s a little ridiculous to even try when he knows everything about her, down to each silver scar and the embarrassing childhood mishap or training accident that goes along with it. But she can’t help it.

She’s completely at ease with him one moment, watching movies at his place or working quietly in coffee shops together. But then she feels like a live wire whenever he slings his arm around her while a little tipsy or when he sighs her name in a certain way after she makes him laugh so hard his stomach hurts. It’s too easy to imagine him breathing her name like that as he presses his naked body into hers.

It’s inadequate to call what she feels for him a “crush” and too dramatic to say she’s “fallen” for him. But she understands the violence in the language used to describe such feelings. The whole thing has been exquisitely painful.

Right now, with music floating softly from her speakers while she prepares dinner and he busies with things in the living room, the scene is so domestic it’s dangerous. _We’re friends. Best friends. Best friends can cook each other dinner and assemble a couch platonically without wanting to have sex on it._

Then, the lights go out. The hum of the air conditioner grinds to a halt. The song cuts off right before the chorus.

“Arya? Did you turn off all the lights?” Gendry asks.

“It’s a power outage, stupid.”

Outside the window, rows and rows of buildings are now also dark, the city eerily quiet. The sun will be completely gone in the next few minutes. When Arya checks her phone, she realizes that there’s also no cell service or internet.

She and Gendry exchange a glance.

“Don’t even think about leaving me here,” she says. The words are meant to come out as a threat, but when Gendry’s face softens at the vulnerability in her voice, her cheeks burn. She hopes that it’s dark enough that he can’t see the color rush to her face.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he smirks. “You still owe me dinner.”

Arya lines up all of her candles — mostly gifts from Sansa — on the counter.

“Do you think it’ll smell disgusting if we light all of these at once?” she asks.

Gendry shrugged, “Only one way to find out.”

It turns out sandalwood, apple tart, and lavender is a decent combination.

With the power out, they decide to focus on one task at a time. Arya holds her phone flashlight while Gendry tightens the final screws on the couch legs. The light catches every bit of sweat trickling down his neck, highlighting every flex of his forearms. She wants to trace that line of sweat with her tongue.

Once they finish stuffing and fluffing the pillows, they push the couch against one wall. Gendry flops down on it with a wide grin, extremely pleased with himself and looking right at home. When he beckons Arya to join him, she shakes her head.

“Later. Dinner first.”

“Fine, help me up.”

He holds up both his arms, feigning tiredness. Rolling her eyes, Arya pulls him to his feet, but with a little more force than even Gendry was anticipating and they both stumble back a bit. Gendry’s hands grab onto her elbows to steady them both. His hands are warm, firm but gentle. Elbows have never been what she considers erogenous zones but when he touches her, he makes it so. _Oh. Is this how he would touch her? Firm but gentle._

“Clumsy,” she mutters, turning on her heel.

Switching roles, Gendry shines the light over the stove while she boils the noodles and mixes together sesame paste, rice vinegar, soy sauce, and other ingredients. They talk while taking swigs of beer. Occasionally he asks her questions, even though she knows he won’t ever cook the dish himself. He’s just always interested in whatever she’s doing.

They eat by candlelight at her small kitchen table. She doesn’t know whether she should call attention to the romantic scene they’ve now found themselves in, if she should play it off as a joke. But when Gendry takes a bite and moans in appreciation, she decides against it.

After clearing away their plates, Gendry pulls two more beers out of her fridge. He presses one bottle against her neck when she isn’t looking and she shrieks at the contact.

“What are you, twelve?” she laughs, snatching it from his hands and taking a sip.

They move to the newly-constructed couch, facing each other with their knees almost touching. It dips down a bit in the middle which forces the two of them closer together. Arya runs her hands along the fabric. She’d insisted on a fabric couch because she hated having to rip her sweaty thighs off faux leather in the summer.

“Thought you’d like to cool off,” he says, faking innocence. The apartment has indeed been getting hotter without the air conditioner running. Or is it the fact he stares at her neck a little too intently, eyes lingering on the trail of water he left there? Or is it because with every beer, she gets a little bolder, mouth lingering over the bottle’s rim just to see his throat tighten?

“I need a fucking haircut,” Arya muses, running her fingers through her hair. She’s never liked to let her hair grow out too long, and in this heat, she hates how it sticks to the nape of her neck. "It looks terrible."

The candles cast warm glows on Gendry’s skin, shadows dancing in the room all around them. Time is syrupy and slow and it’s all Arya can do to hope that the power stays out for a little longer.

Gendry twirls an errant tendril of her hair in his finger, a soft smile on his face.

“I always think you’re beautiful,” he says quietly.

Arya’s eyes flick up to his. Gendry meets her gaze and for a second, she’s worried she’s spoiled the moment because he stops toying with her hair. Instead, he caresses the back of her cheek with his fingers, simultaneously soothing and stoking the need in her. She arches her eyebrow, whether in a question or a challenge, she’s not sure.

Gendry barely has a chance to utter her name before she pulls him by the front of his t-shirt into a clumsy kiss. She loves the faint smell of his sweat and aftershave, the salty sweetness of his lips. It isn’t what she’d imagined, but it doesn’t matter. It’s better. It’s _real_.

He breaks the kiss, “We’ve been drinking.”

“You’ve also been making me drink a glass of water every thirty minutes,” she chuckles softly, taking the opportunity to swing a leg over Gendry and settle herself in his lap.

When his eyes continue to search hers, she kisses the worry from his face.

“I want this,” she whispers against his lips. _You. I want you._ But she cannot bring herself to say those exact words.

Arya’s words seem to ignite something in Gendry. All traces of hesitancy gone, he pulls her down for another kiss, his mouth devouring her and his hands roaming under her shirt. God, those hands. She’s dreamed of those hands.

They pull his shirt off first, then hers. When his sweat-slicked skin meets hers, they both moan at the contact. Gendry’s impatience surprises her. He trails kisses down her neck, his left hand keeping her firmly in place even though his stubble tickles and she starts squirming in his lap. Arya lets out a moan at that. _She’d been right. Firm but gentle. Gendry would never hurt her. But he knows what she can take._

He doesn’t even bother to try and remove her bra. He simply pulls her bra to the side, enough for his massive hands to cup her breasts and tweak her nipples.

“Is that good?” he breathes, giving her right nipple a particularly vicious twist. He gives her a sinful grin when she makes a very un-Arya-like squeak.

“It’s…satisfactory,” she replies, trying to keep her voice even.

“I aim to exceed expectations,” Gendry pulls her in for a filthy kiss, all tongue and teeth, then moves her off of him to sit her on the couch. Before she can protest, he’s on his knees in front of her, pulling off her shorts. She takes the opportunity to unclasp her bra. He chances a glance up at her, toying with her panties, giving her a moment to stop or continue.

Arya nods. She can hardly believe this is real. Her best friend is between her thighs, staring at her so reverently while his fingers start to stroke at her wetness, determined to tease more of it out of her.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “Is this all for me?”

She lets out a moan at that. In all the time she’s known Gendry, she’s known him to swear almost as much as her, but she’s never known him to be so _lewd_. But she loves every word.

After a few minutes of gently teasing her entrance, he finally, finally, slides one finger inside her, which makes Arya’s eyes roll promptly into the back of her head. God, she’s always had a thing for his hands. Has gotten herself off on more than one occasion to just the idea of him stroking her, just like this. But to feel it is something else entirely.

Gendry works her methodically with just that one finger, the rhythm slow enough to drive her crazy. Of course, he’s fucking her with his middle finger, testing her to see which movements elicit certain reactions. When Arya looks down, Gendry is focused on her like there’s nothing else in this world. She digs her teeth into her lip at every flex of his forearm as he makes her so wet she half hopes she won’t drip all over her brand new couch.

And half hoping she will.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” Gendry asks, his voice an octave lower than it usually is. “About all the things I’d do to you? About how you’d taste and clench around my fingers — fuck, just like that.”

“Why don’t you enlighten me?” Arya pants.

He slaps her thigh and she gasps, “Impatient. Should’ve known you would be.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t keep me waiting.”

Gendry pauses, his fingers tracing patterns into her inner thigh while he considers, “You’re right. Not this time anyways.”

That sends a shiver through her. The idea of a next time.

When he slides two fingers into her heat, all thoughts of a clever retort leave her head. Gendry’s hand is a blur between her legs, coaxing higher and higher sounds from Arya. The sound of every twist of his fingers inside her rings so loudly in her ears. _She’s never been this wet._

“Yeah?” he smirks at her. _Had she said that last part out loud?_ “I think we can do better.”

Gendry curls his fingers ever so slightly and finds that spot that makes Arya keen. The pressure in her is building building building and she can’t keep her eyes open even though she wants to see Gendry when she comes, wants to see his face when he’s made her come because she wants to remember this moment forever. With a final gasp and her hands frozen in his hair, she gushes all over his hand while he mutters praises into her skin.

Her heart is racing and her chest is heaving in a way she thought was only reserved for Sansa’s favorite regency romance movies. Somewhere in between gathering her thoughts and returning to her body, Gendry slides his fingers out of her. Arya opens an eye to see him sucking each digit.

“Can you take one more?” he wonders out loud. “I think you can.”

He holds her open with his thumb and index finger and just looks at her. It makes her feel so exposed. Right when she thinks Gendry’s finally going to put his mouth on her, he fucking _blows_ on her slit and she’s so sensitive from her previous orgasm that it sends an embarrassing tremor down her spine.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Gendry laughs. “You’re just so _pretty_. Pretty and wet, just for me.”

Satisfied with his teasing, he finally covers her clit with his mouth.

Arya’s last boyfriend had technically gone down on her, but only for a few moments and it always felt like an obligation. Gendry, meanwhile, is devouring her, holding her open for him, reveling in every twitch against his mouth. Light licks, strong lashes of his tongue, burrowing his entire chin into her so harshly that she feels his stubble and is ready to come again within minutes.

When she finally breaks, Gendry’s hands hold her still, lapping softly at her to prolong her orgasm until she whines from the overstimulation. Looking extremely pleased with himself, Gendry sits back on his heels and wipes at his mouth with his thumb, not wanting to waste any drop of her.

Arya catches his hand and sucks his thumb. Slowly. She mimics some of the motions his tongue had made on her. Gendry’s eyes widen, then darken.

She pulls him up for a kiss and at the last second, flips him over until he’s once again seated on the couch. Arya throws her hair over one shoulder and sinks down in between his knees. Once she releases him from his straining boxers, she can’t help but gasp. Gendry’s large, as she’d suspected. But it thrills her to know that he’s this hard for her.

“Seven Hells Arya,” he lets out a groan once she takes him into her mouth.

Arya looks up at him as she licks his shaft, finally able to taunt him the way he’d taunted her. Things she’ll remember: his pinched eyebrows, that open mouth, those hands uselessly flexing against his thigh until they finally sink into her hair and direct her right where he wants her.

But not for too long. Gendry pulls her off him and drags her back onto his lap, muttering about how he needs to be inside her.

“Next time?” she grins.

“Next time,” he smiles back. “I’m holding you to that, Stark.”

“Already looking forward to it.”

“Do you have any condoms?” he asks.

“I’m clean and I’m on the pill. You?”

Gendry raises his eyebrows at her implication.

“I’m clean,” he stammers. “Yeah. You sure?”

“When have you known me to do something I don’t want to do?” she nibbles his ear.

Gendry pauses her ministrations, holding both her hands in his and leaning his forehead against hers. His eyes are so blue they’re black, shining with emotion. Even though he’s just made her come twice — harder than she’s ever come in her life — this moment makes her heart race the fastest.

“It’s always been you, Arya,” he whispers.

Any other night with honking cars and rowdy bar patrons across the street would’ve made it too loud for her to hear what he said. But in the quiet darkness, it’s utterly still and every word of his confession makes heat bloom inside her.

“It’s you and me,” she affirms, wide eyes holding his gaze.

She sinks down on him slowly, her face hovering above his to take in every look of satisfaction. Gendry is so large it takes a few strokes to take him in fully. When she’s finally seated in his lap, he just waits, casually running fingers up and down her arms.

“How do you feel?” he nuzzles her neck, leaving little love bites.

“Full,” she gasps. _Complete._

“Mm, you feel like heaven.”

“Cheesy.”

“You love it.”

Oh, how she wants to frame that soft smile of his.

Adjusting to the delicious stretch, Arya finally moves her hips in a few experimental strokes. She rides him slowly at first, rising onto her knees before slamming all the way down, each time earning guttural groans from Gendry in concert with her breathy moans.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” Gendry gasps, hands spanning her waist.

Arya starts to move quicker and quicker until her movements falter and Gendry takes over. Gendry holds her hips and thrusts up into her, building up into a punishing rhythm that has her almost wailing. Each stroke leaves her feeling dizzy and delirious. She’s unsure if it’s because of the sex, Gendry, or some combination of both. She’s never known it could feel this good.

He’s almost worked her up to her next peak when he pauses. She could _murder_ him. But then, he slides her back and forth in his lap. And _fuck_ that new angle has her crying out.

“That’s the good spot, isn’t it?” he growls.

His left hand holds her ass and his right hand pushes on her abdomen, rocking her faster and faster until she can hear the obscene slickness between them and the tension coiling inside her.

“K-keep going,” she stammers, not even caring that she’s begging. “S-so close. Please.”

“You going to come, Arya? Come on, come on my cock,” Gendry encourages her, telling her how good she feels, how tight she is around him.

At his words, she melts. Convulses on his lap. Tries to cover the obscene moans that slip out of her mouth with her hand. Gendry doesn’t let up, urging her into another orgasm right on the heels of the previous one.

“Don’t hide. I want to hear you,” he says, his voice a bit broken. He’s panting heavily now, sweat drenching his hair. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”

Arya whimpers his name over and over again as she comes, a chant as if to remind herself that this isn’t a dream. She’s trembling like a leaf when Gendry finally thrusts into her one final time, a harsh wet smack in the quiet of her apartment, and finishes inside her.

They lie like that for awhile, pressed against one another while they get their heartbeats under control. Arya’s sure that hers is going to thunder out of her chest, especially when Gendry brings her hand to his face, kissing each knuckle tenderly.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. “You look like you’re thinking too hard for a person who just had sex.”

Arya snorts and slides off his lap to go clean up. Standing before him, a trickle of his spend trails down her inner thigh. Gendry’s eyes track it possessively.

“I’m just glad that we were able to christen the couch.”

“First of many, Stark.”


End file.
